


A Green Carnation on His Suit

by voidnests



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Drinking, Grumpy Old Men, I'll tag it later on but it's mature so there is, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Smoking, and probably sex, cursing, imagine how is touch the bi, snowman is mentioned but she's busy being a boss ass bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidnests/pseuds/voidnests
Summary: It's the 1920s and two greasy womanizing gangsters are finding out romantic relationships sometimes involve feelings, and also sometimes involve other men.





	A Green Carnation on His Suit

“I’m giving up on women,” says Slick.

“They gave up on you a long time ago, boss,” Droog replies, and he doesn’t so much see Slick’s glare as he feels it on the side of his face. He doesn’t bother saying anything more. Slick can sure as hell see bait from ten miles off, but always latches on; God help him, if there’s a God what feels they can.

“Shut yer yap. I’m serious,” Spades says, and Droog doesn’t bother saying it’s shut. Just takes a sip more of scotch and turns his head to look his boss in the eyes - well, eye - real business like. Like a good lackey. Or a good puppet master. Whatever needs must. “I never thought I’d say it. I thought I’d settle up with her in one way or another. Then she went and made it personal.”

“Ain’t shacking up personal?” 

“I told you to shut yer yap. You know damn well it ain’t as personal as puttin a knife in a man’s eye. She lodged it in there like I done somethin to her other than give her a coupla the best nights any woman’s ever fuckin got-”

“Boss,” Droog says, “Not to interject meaningless like, but get to the point.”

“That is the point. If you give yer best to a woman, try to make her an honorable woman, an she still stabs you like a fuckin harpie out for a scrap a meat, what else is there?” 

He looks into his drink with his remaining eye. It’s almost a poetic kind of look. Pensive, in a way that Spades never really is. This shit might actually be affecting him, and Droog takes a long drag from his cigarette and decides not to hassle him about whether a man like any of them can make a woman honorable, even through marriage. He figures a guy has to have honor for a thing like that to work, and everyone knows there’s no honor amongst thieves.

Just a little class.

“That ain’t your point, boss. That’s just a statement. So you shacked up with a hotsy-totsy four-flusher and got rinsed. Happens to plenty of men. Just pick another, there are plenty if you hadn’t noticed,” Droog says. 

Spades does look around. They’re at the bar, of course, but the rest of the joint is absolutely packed around the band, hopping around rhythmically, bouncing and swinging with each other. The dresses the girls wear now ain’t give them the figure like they used to, but they sure show off every other part to best advantage, and their beads and sequins give them a shine when the light hits them. Spades Slick looks at all these joyful broads and comes up naughts.

“There ain’t none of em that are her,” he says, and Droog starts to feel himself get uncomfortable. For all his sharp angles and teeth you could probably whittle with, Spades is looking like one of the dames he goes with every now and again that water the garden when they hear they ain’t the only girl he’s going with. He just barely keeps himself from audibly sighing in relief when Hearts spins off of the dance floor, flushed from his chest to his ears and grinning like a cheshire cat.

“That hop is really somethin boys,” he says, “What are ya missin out fer? Sluggin some giggle water down yer necks like ya can do at base?”

“Slick’s contemplating celibacy,” Droog tells him, taking another drag. It’s nice dramatic effect, and it allows him to shut the hell up while Hearts’ attention sharpens on Spades. 

“Don’t you go arguin with me, I’ll gut you like a trout-”

“Ya can’t go makin statements like that without me worryin boss. It’s only healthy for ya to have a little tipple and sob over a sheba lost like that, especial like with her messing up yer mug the way she did, but yer rushin in to loneliness here,” Hearts says, and Spades glares at Droog so bad it really should burn into him. He just grins. 

“You know he’s right,” Droog says, and Slick slams his fists down on the bar so hard it makes his shot glasses clink into each other and tumble, including the one with his fresh drink. Droog flags down another and catches it without half looking.

“Dames don’t even look at Clubs twice an you two louts never get on to him for it! Why can’t a man like me be allowed to make the choice -”

“If ya ain’t noticed, ya might want to rearrange yer opticals in sight over there,” Hearts says, and both Spades and Droog turn to look, a rare unison of bewilderment at the sight that they’re both set upon.

Hearts isn’t lying, but if either of them didn’t have proof, he’d have a hard time making them believe. But there Clubs is, all four foot four of him spinning around with some broad like a dervish. He’s grinning. She’s grinning. They look really, truly happy. Boxcars grins, reaching over the counter to take the rest of what Droog is drinking. 

“He’s a great dancer,” Hearts says, “Whatever else he is.”

“Yeah? Then why ain’t you go dance with him and let me alone,” Spades spits back. Hearts shrugs.

“Just got done,” he says, “Needed to wet my whistle, ya know?”

Spades and Droog are staring again, though to his eternal credit, at least Droog’s mouth isn’t hanging open like Slick’s is. Without taking his eyes off Hearts, he ashes his cigarette. 

“Why were you dancing with him if he’s got so many desirous dames hanging around?” Droog finally asks, and Hearts snorts at the way his tone’s totally transformed, taking on that cool, measured way he talks to women. And cops.

“They wanna dance with him. He wanted to dance with me. He’s been makin me practice all damn week fer it. Ain’t either of ya heard the music we was playin?”

They had. And neither of them had thought much more than that it was a racket of jazz that helped to drown out the busy noises of the city. Frankly, it was sort of preferable to car horns and tromping feet.

Slick finally can’t contain himself. “Why the fuck would he want to dance with you instead of some pretty dame? Cause yer white?”

“Probably the same reason he likes to fuck me, but hell if I know,” he says. This time, he takes Slick’s shot, and this time, not even Droog is keeping his eyes from nearly popping out of his head. Hearts looks at them both like he’s waiting for them to say something.

“You. Yer. You,” Spades says, and this would normally be the point where Droog reaches over to gently shut his jaw, but frankly they’re both out of his depth entirely and Hearts looks at them like he knows it. He looks at Droog and it’s not the same look he gives Slick a second later, and it makes his guts twist weirdly in his abdomen, and he doesn’t like it. 

“I, I’m, I,” Hearts mocks him, “Yeah, we fuck. I’m a Jewish polack and he’s a mulatto leprachaun and we’re both fuckin violent criminals. Ya think we got more to lose in the eyes a heaven or man?”

“But you like women. I caught you fucking one of my dates at the goddamn cinema!” Slick shouts, and Hearts just laughs, rubbing the scar on his chin. Slick cut him deep that time, and he was laughing then, too. Laughed all the way up to stitches, and that was only cause they had to chloroform his ass to get him to stop moving.

“Yeah, ya did boss. Cause I liked her. An I like Clubs,” Hearts says. “Now if ya two Mrs. Grundies wanna sit here and clutch at yer pearls while ya get yerselves ossified, that’s fine by me. But pick yer jaws up off the floor afore ya start to catch flies. I’m gonna go see if I can catch a wiggle.”

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Just to be clear, when Slick mentions that Hearts is white, it's a tongue in cheek jab at him. While we would typically consider a Polish and/or otherwise European Jewish person today to be ethnically white, at the time there were only legal precedents, and there were quite a lot of people and places who would not view Polish - or even Irish - as socially white (in the same way Mexicans were technically white but were barred from utilizing many of the same facilities as European-descended whites in the south of the USA). However, Hearts is the only white-appearing one of the gang, and the only one we'd consider white by today's legal and social standards.
> 
> ~ To also be clear, the chapters of this are probably going to be brief, as in 2000 words or less, because it's the first thing I've written in a year and I actually want to complete it. Thanks for reading!


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